


High Ground

by Satelesque



Category: Black Clover - Tabata Yuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Drinking & Talking, Family Angst, Friendly Rivalry, Gen, It's a ship if you want it to be, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-24 13:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20359153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satelesque/pseuds/Satelesque
Summary: The Star Awards Festival is a joyous time of year, and not just because of the celebration.  As Magic Knights gather in the capital for the ceremony, old friends and old rivals gone to their respective squads get a chance to meet again.





	High Ground

Nozel Silva wasn’t one to walk with a spring in his step or beam at people when he was happy. If asked, he would have replied that it was only sensible. An unpleasant mood could be dispelled by removing its cause, so it would serve him best to let his displeasure be known.  Happiness, though? That deserved to be savored. After all, anyone worth sharing a good mood with would know the signs. His family did, and even the servants.

Every year around April, after the cutoff for earning merits had passed, Magic Knights would gather around the Royal Capital in anticipation of the Star Awards Ceremony. It was a time for celebration, a time for old friends and old rivals gone to their respective squads to see each other once again.

And around the same time, the Silva estate would wake up from its quiet repose and shine just a bit more brilliantly. It wasn’t just a matter of its master being home, though Nozel was free for once to tackle any petty logistical issues that had cropped up. It wasn’t just merriment from the ceremony leaking through the gates.

No, this was a time of year Nozel had looked forward to ever since becoming a Magic Knight, and subtle hints of his own happiness began to infect everyone.

His siblings were always the first to notice. Nebra cut down fractionally on her haughtiness and applied herself to her studies, looking for all the world like a normal twelve year old. Solid, seven and easily excitable, sealed himself in his room practicing a new magic trick then ran through the halls and courtyards showing it to anyone who’d look. Noelle ... Noelle was more a ghost than ever, which in many ways was an improvement.

Then the mood spread to the servants and through them the castle itself. The stones gleamed, firefly dandelions danced on the breeze, and the smell of gourmet cooking drifted from the kitchens.

It all wrapped back around to the Silva children, and by the eve of the Star Award Ceremony they were ready to attend with not a stitch or hair out of place.

That night Nozel once again stood alongside Fuegoleon on the main stage. Not as captains yet but as the two top individual scorers, even if neither of their squads actually came in first. Novachrono’s Grey Deer remained in the lead, but more importantly the Crimson Lions were still in second.

But between the roar of the crowd and the unspoken challenge in each other’s eyes to do better next year, the frustration of losing faded away. And in the lingering high after the ceremony, as they sat perched on the castle ramparts and watched the crowd and the smoke from the fireworks disperse, discussing their troubles didn’t seem as painful as it would have been on any other day.

“Solid has been skipping his lessons,” Nozel admitted, breaking a several minute long silence.

Fuegoleon didn’t answer right away, letting the words drift off into the night and taking a swig from his latest flagon. Then he held it out to Nozel. “So did my sister. Want a drink?”

Nozel looked at it, hesitated, then reached out to take a take a gulp. He and alcohol did not get along in the slightest, but so little couldn’t hurt. It might even help get him through this minefield of a conversation he’d unthinkingly started.

Nozel raised a brow at Fuegoleon as he handed back the flagon. “Solid is not Mereoleona,” he said, then turned back to the horizon.

Fuegoleon made a noncommittal sound, but the point stood. Mereoleona truly was one of a kind. The two sat in silence again.

“Leopold keeps telling people about his ‘cool big sister.’” Fuegoleon eventually said. “The one who travels the country and comes back with the best stories.”

Really? That was his worry? Clearly the Silvas had the Vermillions beat by miles in dysfunctionality, but Nozel kept his tone even.

“Of course he does. He’s five, she’s a powerful mage and adventurer, and stories are all he has of her nowadays. Leopold may adore her, but you’re the one he’s always idolized. Unless he starts running away like she did, I see no cause for concern.”

Then again, maybe Nozel wasn’t the best judge of healthy family dynamics. Fuegoleon breathed a quiet, “Thank you,” before taking another drink, but Nozel wasn’t paying attention.

“Is it my fault?” he eventually muttered.

“Is what your fault?”

Nozel turned to Fuegoleon and blinked in confusion before realizing he’d said that aloud. Accursed alcohol. It was too late to take it back, though. With any luck, with as much as Fuegoleon had already had to drink, he’d forget this conversation ever took place.

“Everything. Nebra...” and her vicious insecurity. “Solid...” and the pride that masked his desperate need for validation. “Noelle.” What to even say about Noelle? The very sight of her twisted his stomach into knots. “Was there something she was supposed to get but couldn’t since Mother's gone and Father's ... away? Something they all had less and less of, and the younger they were when Mother died, the more –?“

The more broken they turned out. It was too bitter a word even for tonight, even with the fog of alcohol to dull the ache.

But what other word was there? Noelle may have looked normal on the surface – and heart-wrenchingly close to Acier at that – but she was cursed with the magical equivalent of clubs for hands. She’d never know Leopold’s joy at running around to show everyone the fireball in his palms, never feel Nozel’s quiet satisfaction as mana obeyed him with nary a conscious thought, never be rid of the shame of being born a royal in name alone.

And while Nebra and Solid weren’t as obviously flawed, somewhere along the way their hearts had twisted. They’d lost track of their place in the world and used their station as an excuse to lower others before elevating themselves.

“Nozel, are you drunk?”

That was easily the most benign observation Fuegoleon could have drawn from that little speech. Nozel wasn’t sure whether to laugh or sigh in relief, tried to do both at once, and let out a choked chuckle. As if that wasn’t answer enough, he went on. “A bit, I think. I don’t drink enough to know.”

Fuegoleon just shook his head and emptied the rest of the flagon down his throat.

In the capital below lights began to flicker out as celebrations died down, and overhead the moon was finally clear of the fading smoke. Its light painted the city with silver, a sight Nozel had often admired from the towers of his home.

“I don’t know anything about raising kids,” Fuegoleon started, and Nozel flinched. “But I always try to set a good example for Leopold. Whatever else happens, you’ve been an exemplary Magic Knight. If your siblings follow you, you’ll have nothing to worry about.

“Oh, but maybe tell your people to stop praising Solid every time he shows off his magic. Don’t tell anyone I said, but his head’s getting big.”

Fuegoleon let out a chuckle and raised his flagon, only to frown and set it back down. Nozel shot him a sidelong glance.

“Are  _ you _ drunk?”

Another chuckle. “A bit, I think.”

Nozel began to push himself up, carefully so as not to stumble and embarrass himself falling from the castle wall. Then a hand caught his sleeve.

“Where are you going?”

Honestly, he hadn’t thought that far. Standing up had been on an impulse to get away from this conversation before he said anything worse. “Home,” he said. “I’m not good company right now.”

The tug on his sleeve only grew more insistent until Nozel relented and sat back down.

“It’s been too long,” Fuegoleon said, a truth that Nozel couldn’t deny. Then he put on a smirk. “Besides, I’ve put up with you trying to kill me. I’ll put up with you being drunk.”

Nozel shot him a look of dismay. “I’ve never tried to kill you.”

“You certainly fight like it.”

Now that was entirely unfair. “That’s different. We both know you’d never forgive me if I held back. I wouldn’t if you did.”

It was late, and they’d been drinking, and Fuegoleon’s eyes were heavier than normal, but at that a glimmer came to life in their depths. Nozel couldn’t stop himself from mirroring it and wouldn’t have wanted to if he could. Long as it had been since they'd seen each other, it had been even longer since they'd had a proper duel.

“Don’t tempt me, Nozel.”

“Are you busy tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t be drinking this much if I was.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Fuegoleon hesitated then, his eyes wandering from the castle behind them to the city in front and up to the sky, as if there he’d find a clue to the words he was searching for. Finally he spoke.

“Do you ever get the sense that a day can’t possibly get any better? That asking for more would push your luck too far?”

“Something too good to be true?” Nozel waited until Fuegoleon looked back down then – wondering the whole time how much of this was the alcohol talking – pinned him with his gaze until he couldn’t possibly be misunderstood. “Regularly.”

There was no replying to that, and the two were left staring at each other until Nozel took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “You might feel differently after I beat you. Tomorrow afternoon?”

“Are you busy before then?” Fuegoleon asked, and Nozel shook his head. “Then let’s have lunch first. A late lunch,” he added as a distant bell let out two low chimes.

“I’ll tell the servants that you’re coming at one.”

The conversation trailed off again, but neither wanted to be the first to move. Eventually it was Fuegoleon who got up and held out a hand to pull Nozel to his feet after him. The two waved goodnight as their respective magics carried them from the castle wall, but their expressions were far from polite. Rather, they were close to eager, and even closer to predatory.

Soon enough the two would be back on missions with their squads. It could be months until they got another chance to compete so directly, and until then tomorrow's winner would have a subtle advantage. The high ground in the game of king of the hill they’d been playing from the moment they met. Neither would ever give that up without a fight.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I finally wrote something I wouldn't be deeply embarrassed for one reason or another to post as my first. Here's hoping I can make that a trend, and that I didn't screw anything up too badly in the process.


End file.
